


There Will Be Time...

by hear_her_speak



Series: May You Learn [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Red Lyrium, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hear_her_speak/pseuds/hear_her_speak
Summary: A year has passed since Branwen Lavellan was killed by Alexius and the world of Thedas was plunged into darkness.  A year has passed, and all the while Solas has been tortured and forced to ingest red lyrium.  Now, on the brink of death, Solas is all but ready to give up.  That is, until the Herald of Andraste performs another of her famous miracles.  Solas promises himself that with his second chance he will refocus his efforts to restore the world he destroyed, but, as he looks at the Herald, his resolution all but crumbles.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: May You Learn [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597180
Kudos: 19





	1. ...To Murder and Create

It had all started with Branwen’s decision to side with the Rebel Mages. Solas had agreed with her decision, had lauded her for it, but if he had known what that decision would lead to, he might have thought differently. There was always clarity in hindsight. He knew that well, but he had still not learned that lesson it seemed.  
They’d made their way to Redcliffe, but something was wrong. Fiona had seemingly forgotten all about them, and, instead of the meeting with her that they had been anticipating, they were met instead by a Magistar of Tevinter named Alexius. He knew enough about Tevinter and their use of magic to suspect that Fiona was being manipulated, but he never imagined that Alexius had stumbled upon something so advanced. The man who had agreed to help them, a foppish man with a black mustache and an arrogant manner called Dorian Pavus, had informed them all the Alexius was using the rifts to manipulate time itself.  
That information had sent Solas’s head reeling. Of course he understood the basic principle behind such magic - he’d spent the last year since awaking from Uthenara postulating how he himself might use such magic to enact his plan. His ideas were, of course, much more advanced, but the very notion that a human could have deduced even a rudimentary idea of such magic was unthinkable.  
Despite the thoughts that raced through his head, he made it a priority to remain stoic. He played along, kept calm, and advised Branwen as best he could, all the while maintaining an air of speculation. She was none the wiser to how much he knew, or what he might suspect beyond what was necessary to achieve their goals. He wasn’t surprised when Branwen asked him to accompany her to confront Alexius, but he was certainly relieved. He needed to know more, to gather as much information of his plan. He had to make sure that this theoretical magic would work, and, if possible, he would like to see it in action.   
They approached Redcliffe. Solas walked beside the Inquisitor, keeping time with her steps. “Be careful, Lethalan,” he said, “the Magisters are proud men. You will need to be strong when you face Alexius. He will most likely underestimate you.”  
Branwen nodded. Her mouth was set in a firm line, and her eyes were narrowed. “I’m counting on it,” she said.   
“You’re strength and poise may be useful tools to throw him off his guard. He does not see you as his equal. Demanding equality may anger him, but it may also be the perfect distraction.”  
She nodded, but said nothing.   
Solas fell back a step, letting her take the lead. Cassandra strode beside him, chin held high. She whispered, “do you think she’s ready?”  
Solas nodded, though he wasn’t completely sure. They’d faced foes on the road, but never a true adversary. This would be Branwen’s first real test of strength. He thought of the kindness she showed so many they encountered. He worried for her.  
“I’m ready,” she said, to both of their surprise, “and I can hear you.” She turned, then, walking backwards so she could face Cassandra. “I don’t much care for those who take advantage of others. You needn’t worry that I’ll be soft on Alexius.” Then, turning around, she added, “Besides, your Maker chose me, Cassandra, or so you think. Maybe a little faith is in order.”  
Solas suppressed a smile.  
Cassandra frowned at him. “Shut up.”  
They approached the gates and were escorted up the steps of the castle. In the foyer, they were met with men in intricate helmets and white robes who blocked their path. Branwen stopped before them, holding her ground. A blonde man who Solas guessed was Alexius’ steward moved to great them. He opened his mouth, but Branwen promptly cut him off. It was clear she was in no mood for pleasantries.   
“Announce us,” she said.  
The man stammered, clearly shocked by what he considered unbecoming behavior. He straightened up, then glared at her. Solas searched her face for any sign of misgiving, but there was none. She glared right back.   
The man cleared his throat and said, “The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellan alone. The rest will wait here.”  
“They are my trusted companions,” she said, “Where I go, they go.”  
The man looked down his nose at her, but nodded at the guards all the same. They parted, and the three of them were allowed to pass.  
They followed the steward to the throne room. Solas cared little for Ferelden and its customs, but the degree to which Alexius had made himself at home in a castle that wasn’t him rubbed Solas the wrong way. He’d seen too many people elivate themselves beyond a status they deserved. What had Alexius achieved to merit such pomp and circumstance? Nothing. Still, he showed nothing of his thoughts on his face.   
Branwen, on the other hand, approached Alexius with a scowl. For all her strengths, she was not usually concerned with concealing her emotions. While not always a flaw, Solas worried it would get her in trouble.  
They stopped before Alexius, the throne looming in the background. “My lord Magistar,” said the Steward with a bow, “the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”  
Alexius smiled at them, extending his arms in welcome. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said. His eyes flitted to Solas and Cassandra, and, though there was displeasure in them, he remained amiable. “And you associates, of course. I am sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”  
Fiona, the leader of the rebels, stepped forward. “Are we mages to have to voice in deciding our fate?”  
“Fiona,” answered Alexius, “you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.”  
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Branwen. “But it seems to me, that since Fiona is the one who invited me to Redcliffe in the first place, it is only fair that she is here. But if you do not see things the same way, Alexius, then I will invite the Grand Enchanter as a guest of the Inquisition.”  
What Branwen had done was a brash move, but Solas approved of it. It sent a clear message what side she was on.  
Fiona looked taken aback, but grateful all the same. “Thank you,” she said.   
Alexius pursed his lips, but gave little other acknowledgement in response. He sat down on his stolen throne and, at last, played his hand. “The Inquisition needs mages and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”  
“Nothing.”  
Alexius quirked a brow. “Perhaps they do not teach negotiation where you come from, but if you wish this transaction to continue, you will need to offer something.”  
“Let’s see,” Branwen said, “Hm. I will have to think on that. What should I offer a man who manipulated the Free Mages, is a part of a supremacist group that aims to dominate the world, and who has invited me to his stronghold with the intent to kill me? What might a man like that possibly deserve?”  
Alexius stood. “I have no idea what you are talking about!”  
“She knows everything, Father,” said Felix, stepping forward.  
“Felix, what have you done?”  
“Your son is concerned that you are involved in something terrible,” said Branwen, “as am I.”  
Alexius scoffed at her. “So speaks the thief. Do you think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and you think you’re in control. You’re nothing but a mistake.”  
Branwen smiled for the first time since entering Alexius’ stronghold. “Funny. I tell myself that every day. Stings a lot less from you.” She moved closer, propping her foot on the bottom step that lead to the raised platform where Alexius now stood. “If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what this mark on my hand is for.” At that, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers so the anchor flashed with the movement. Solas shot a worried look at Cassandra, who, judging by her eyes, shared his concern. What was she doing? She was being cocky. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down like that. He tightened his grip on his staff.   
“It belongs to your betters,” came Alexius, “You wouldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.  
“Father, listen to yourself,” said Felix, “Do you know what you sound like?”  
At that moment, Dorian emerged from the shadows where he’d been lingering just out of Alexius’ sight. “He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous clique everyone expects us to be.” He strode forward, stopping just beside Branwen.  
Alexius turned his attention to his former pupil. “Dorian! I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from it’s own ashes.”  
That caught Solas’s attention. Branwen’s too by the way she perked up. “That’s who you serve? The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”  
“Soon, he will become a god.”  
Branwen turned to Solas and mouthed, “A god, huh?” Solas felt his heart catch in his chest. He remembered her stance on the gods, both Elvhen and Human. She was right not to believe in their divinity, or anyone’s for that matter, but Solas knew the havoc that mortals claiming godhood could hold. Her disbelief made he underestimate the power of the man before her. Solas felt the panic rising in his chest.   
Alexius continued, unfazed. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric Oceans to the Frozen Seas.”  
“You can’t involve my people in this!” yelled Fiona.  
“Alexius,” said Dorian, “this is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this.   
“Stop it, Father! Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern Mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”  
“No. it’s the only way, Felix! He can save you!”  
“Save me?”  
The whole picture was now becoming clear to Solas. This was a man with immense pride and nothing to lose. He saw himself reflected in the Magister.  
“There is a way! The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple-”  
“I’m going to die. You need to accept that.”  
Branwen needed to leave. Solas needed to do something, now, needed to signal to her that trouble was on the horizon! He said her name, but she neither heard, nor heeded him.  
“Seize them, Venatori!” screamed Alexius, “The Elder One demands this elf’s life!”  
But the Venatori didn’t move. They dropped, one by one, as the Inquisition scouts who had infiltrated the stronghold slit their throats from behind.   
“Your men are dead, Alexius,” said Branwen. She stood before him, strong and determined, her stance even, her hand reaching for her bow.   
“You are a mistake!” he screamed. He yanked off his amulet, and it began to glow. “You should never have been!”   
“No!” screamed Dorian. He hit Alexius with a spell, and the Amulet went flying. A green light swelled before them. Dorian and Branwen were closest to it. Branwen threw her hand before her reflexively, protecting her face from the blast. That was the last Solas saw before tucking his head into his hand. With a bang, the light flared, then flashed out of existence, and with it went Dorian and the Inquisitor.  
Cassandra screamed and charged forward, pulling her sword to strike Alexius down, but more of Alexius’s soldiers rushed in, seizing her. Solas spun around to where moments before the Inquisition Scouts had had the upper hand, only now, they were fallen, killed by Alexius’s men. He had used time magic. Just barely, just enough to reverse what damage had been done.   
Cassandra strained against her captors, kicked and flailed. She nearly succeeded. It took three more men to restrain her, but at last, she was brought down to her knees, her arms twisted beside her to keep her still.  
Solas merely stared at the spot where Branwen was standing only seconds before. His heart stopped. If she was gone, then it was over. The time magic worked, but without the anchor, Solas was too weak to do anything. He would need time to think. Maybe there was another way. He dropped his staff and let himself be taken without a fight.  
They were both forced down into the dungeons, but they were taken to cells in completely different rooms. Solas was old enough and wise enough to understand what they were doing. They were trying to break him and Cassandra. They wanted something. Information, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. He would keep his mouth sealed, though, that much was certain. He had ideas, other ways to bring down the Veil and destroy this reality. Especially if the Elder One’s plans came to fruition, he would have to make his move. Destroying the Veil would be a kindness. He merely needed to find a way to escape.  
He bided his time, focusing on the task at hand, refusing to linger on Branwen’s death. It would not do to dwell on grief with so much at stake. He spent days watching the guard patterns. Food was served twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. It was a thin porridge. He ate his portion, then set the bowl where the guard responsible for their food would come and refill it later. He kept himself and his cell as orderly as possible. He was quiet and compliant. All the while, he watched and waited.  
Things carried on in that manner for what Solas guess was a month. He heard nothing, saw nothing, save his cell. The guards were careful not to speak in front of him. He often wondered what was happening to Cassandra. What had become of the Inquisition?   
Had Branwen suffered?   
He was beginning to lose his resolve. The security in this prison was excellent, and he was no master rogue. Branwen probably could have picked the lock. He thought of her often, his grief growing with every passing day. At last, he resolved, if he could not suppress his grief, he would make it the fuel that kept him going. When he was powerful enough to reshape reality, he would ensure that Alexius got what he deserved.   
It was at the end of that first month when he finally lost all hope. The guards came for him, forced him up the stairs and into a poorly lit room. Alexius was waiting for him, a vial of red liquid in his hand.  
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.  
He thought for a moment, but nothing came to him. “No,” he answered.  
“This,” Alexius explained, “is purified Red Lyrium.”  
Solas’s eyes widened. He’d seen the stuff in its raw form, jutting out of the ground in giant, crystalline formations. Varric had asked them to help destroy the deposits when they found them, and they’d done so with great care. If Alexius had purified it, it meant he planned to have mages drink it for its power. He was a madman!  
“I see you recognize it,” Alexius said.  
Solas felt the panic rising in his chest.  
“You seem an intelligent man, serrah,” said Alexias, “so I will not lie to you. Ingesting Red Lyrium in any form which we currently possess for extended periods of time causes some… concerning side effects.” He moved towards Solas, placing a hand on Solas’s shoulder. Solas tensed. “But if we can but harness its power, imagine what an asset it will be to this world.   
“Dirthara-ma,” he said. He knew a fool when he saw one.  
Alexius glowered at him, but did not acknowledge what he said. It was not as if he could understand, anyways. “It is not yet perfect for consumption for our troops,” he continued, “but, lucky for us, we have the ability to test it’s capabilities.”  
Solas’s eyes grew wide, and the guards who held him tightened their grip as he strained against them.   
“We can make this easy,” said Alexius, “or we can make this difficult.”  
“Do as you will,” said Solas. “I will not comply with the machinations of a madman.”  
Alexius glowered. “Very well. Strap him down.”  
He’d been strapped to a table, his hands and feet bound by leather belts. When he would not open his mouth to ingest the lyrium, they forced a funnel down his throat. His magic was still too weak, there was nothing he could do. He kicked and screamed, though the screams were choked out by the funnel. They pushed it farther down his throat, and he gagged. He tried to breath through his nose, tried to make the convulsions of his throat and stomach stop.  
Then he heard the singing.   
He tried not to swallow, but they poured in so much that it flooded his mouth and poured out the sides of his lips. The singing grew louder still as it had trickled down his cheeks close to his ear. Eventually, he’d swallowed. Once he had, they removed the funnel, unstrapped him, and dragged him back to the dungeon by his arms, his feet dragging the whole time. Once back to his cell, they threw him in and he hit the ground hard, landing on his shoulder, before they slammed the bars shut.  
That was the first night since Branwen’s death that he cried. He could feel the lyrium taking root almost instantly. His chest felt tight and his stomach heavy, and he could hear the awful singing in his mind. Exhausted, cold, and in pain, he’d curled up into the corner. He tried to breath, tried to calm his nerves. But he knew, deep down, what the lyrium would do to him. His death was inevitable now. There was nothing he could do to save himself.  
He thought of all the hopes and dreams he had had as a young man, the goals of freedom for his people, a society where they were not forced to pray to those who did not earn their prayers with goodness. He thought of the new world, filled with people he struggled to understand, people so disconnected from magic, and yet, even he was forced to admit, so wonderful, so full of life.   
And he thought of her. He thought of what might have been. He thought about how he should have told her what he wanted, how he felt. He imagined what it would have been like to hold her, to kiss her, to make love to her, to live by her side.  
He wept. He hadn’t cried like that since the day he awoke from Uthenera. His sobs wracked his whole body until he couldn’t breath, until he was shaking from the pain and his throat hurt. He was dehydrated as it was, so, before long, his sobs turned to hoarse screams with no tears.  
The next morning, the guards had finally brought him more food and water. He refused both. He spent that whole day lying on the floor, praying for death to take him. He would not give them the satisfaction of using him as a lyrium mine. He would starve himself, first.  
But the next day, the guards came back into his room, this time with a funnel, a tube, and a pitcher of broth. It didn’t take long to deduce what they would do with them. He knew then that they wouldn’t even give him the kindness of death.   
He ate his food that night without prompting.

A whole year passed in that manner. Every week or two, he was given more red lyrium. More than once, Venatori mages would come to his cell with notebooks and pens. They would ask him questions and prod him, checking to see what effect the lyrium was having on his health. He knew that death was finally coming for him, and he was glad of it. With no hope of regaining his orb, no hope of escape, and no hope for his people, his thoughts turned more frequently to Branwen. He had grieved her, cried many nights after that first, but had never had the luxury of moving on. He had accepted her death, but only in the prospect of his own. He wasn’t sure what waited beyond this life, but perhaps he would see her again.  
Or, he would drift into nothingness.  
Either was fine. So long as it came soon.

*****

Almost a full year had past, to the best of his calculations. The lyrium had taken root in his body. He could almost feel the crystals growing inside of him. As they spread, the ache spread with them. Some days he hurt so much he could barely stand. He had managed to muster enough strength to stand that day, though, and had made an effort to pace about his cell. It wasn’t exactly exercise - even if it was, he had no desire to keep his body in any sort of health - but he’d found that the movement kept the stiffness at bay, just a little, just enough to ease his passage into the Fade at night.  
He heard the shuffling of feet at his door, but he did not bother to look up. The guards would not be long now. Or would they? He couldn’t tell anymore. He could no longer distinguish between the ache in his belly caused by the need for food or the growing lyrium deposits. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. He just kept pacing.  
Until he heard his name.  
“Solas!” she cried. It sounded like her, but it couldn’t be. She’d died. He was sure of it.  
He turned at the sound and felt his heart stop in his chest. There she was, as beautiful as he remembered, clutching the bars of his cell, her eyes wide with worry. Dorian stood beside her, just like the last time he had seen them both. “You’re alive!” he cried. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Nothing made sense. “We saw you die!”  
“The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time,” said Dorian. “We just got here, so to speak.”  
Branwen wasted little time. She produced a lock pick from a pouch she carried at her side and worked the lock until it popped free. All that time trapped behind bars, and she had freed him like it was nothing.  
But more importantly, she and Dorian had merely been displaced in time. His mind reeled. He burst free of his cage, the only thought on his mind the possibility of erasing this bleak future. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year! It may not be too late!”  
Branwen wasn’t listening. She rushed to him and cupped his cheeks in her hands. She smoothed her thumbs over his gaunt cheeks. “What have they done to you?” she whispered. She checked him over, observing his sunken eyes and dirt smudged skin with concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”  
“I am dying,” he said, pulling her hands away from his face by her wrists, “but no matter.” He could still feel the ghost of her fingers on his skin. How many times had he imagined just such a thing on lonely nights in that forsaken cell? Now, he could not bare to linger on his feelings. Not when there was work to be done. Not when there was so much at stake. “If you can undo this,” he said, his focus on Dorian, “they can all be saved.” Relief washed over him, but it was not relief for Thedas. Still, if they were to succeed, they would need to know all that had happened in that last year. “But you know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. Alexius served a master - the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene, and used the chaos to invade the South. This Elder One commands an army of demons. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”  
He and Dorian had gone over the particulars, while Branwen watched, quiet. He wondered what she was thinking. He recalled Wisdom’s advice to allow himself the pleasure of her company, and decided, with confidence, that he must not abide by it. He knew he cared for her deeply, but after the events he had suffered, he now knew that he must focus on his people. All of the suffering he had endured would be erased. If their plan worked, he would have no memory of any of what was happening to him now. That was as it should be, and how it would be for those living in Thedas now. He would not cause them harm. He would simply erase the version of history in which they existed. Branwen would never exist to begin with, and so he resolved to push her from his mind. He could not allow himself to dwell on her. He would not. He had a purpose, now, and he would not abandon it. 

*****

They had found Cassandra and Leliana, and proceeded through the castle, searching for a way to open the door to the throne room, where Alexius hid. The lock mechanism required crystal shards to open, and they had discovered that several prominent members of the Venatori held those pieces.   
“Alright,” said Branwen, “We need to work fast. Let’s split up. Dorian, you, Leliana, and Cassandra, take the east wing. Solas and I will take the west.”  
There were nods, grunts, and words of agreement, then the party split its separate ways. Solas lead the way into one of the inner rooms and began rummaging through the clothes of a dead guard they had killed on their way in, before they knew what they were looking for. Branwen watched him from the door. He had always been thin, but now his pale skin was yellowed and sagged in places and stretched over his bones in others. His ribs and spine protruded from his body - she could see the line of his spine even through the thick wool of his shirt. There were dark circles around his eyes. The red glow of lyrium radiated off his skin through his pores as it grew inside him. He was dying. She thought back to the time she had almost kissed him. She wished now that she had.  
“Solas.”  
He stopped what he was doing and struggled to his feet. She rushed over to help him. He was so frail. When he found his feet, he stood as tall as he could manage, giving the illusion, if only for a moment, that he was the strong, healthy man she had known in Haven. Despite his suffering, he remained cold and calculated. She wanted to hold him, but something in his demeanor told her he would not accept that. She was shocked by how much that hurt. Her breath hitched when she thought of it, and she struggled to hold her composure.   
“Branwen, what is it?”  
She tried to take a deep breath. The tears were starting to pool in her eyes. She hated seeing him like this. “Solas, I know that we’re trying to fix all this. That this future might not even come to pass. But, in case we fail-”  
“We can’t fail. Failing is not an option.”  
“You don’t know that,” she whispered through gritted teeth. She was angry. Angry at Alexius and this fucking Elder One, whoever the hell he was, for creating this damned world, angry that they had hurt people that she cared about, angry that people she loved kept dying. But most of all angry at herself for not saying what she felt before. “In case this is it. I- I want you to know that I care about you. Deeply.” Her heart was pounding like hummingbird’s wings. “I- I think I’m in love with you-”  
“-Lethalan-”  
“-And I know you probably don’t feel the same.”  
“-please-”  
“You don’t have to. But I needed to say it before this… before you….” She couldn’t say it. She felt lightheaded at the thought, and her stomach churned. She felt like she was suffocating, and she backed away from him, suddenly vulnerable. She struggled, fighting against the fear and the tears, a losing battle. She reached forward, despite herself, and placed her hands on his cheeks. She guided his face towards hers so that their foreheads were pressed together. “If we don’t make it out, you need to know that someone in this world will miss you.”

*****

Solas could feel himself losing his resolve. He should have pulled away. He told himself to. Over and over and over again. Instead, he cupped her cheek and leaned into her, his head pressing harder into hers. His thumbs traced the soft curve of her cheek. He realized, dismayed, that there was no point in resisting his feelings. If this future was erased, as he so hoped it would be, then he would return to the way he felt a year ago. He had already fallen for her, then, and without the horrors of this reality realized, who could say if he would ever realize the mistake that he would be making if he allowed himself to love her. Between that and his impending death, his guilt at his feelings faded away. He could allow himself this brief moment of indiscretion. There was no harm in it, now.   
His breathing was ragged because of the lyrium pressing against his lungs. “We haven’t much time,” he said. He pulled back, then paused, inches away from her now. A dead man anyhow, he couldn’t see the harm in a momentary indiscretion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes as he leaned into that innocent kiss. He pulled away with a smile and wiped away a tear from Branwen’s cheek with his thumb. “Come,” he said, “we must find all of the lyrium shards.”


	2. ...For Decisions and Revisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branwen must return to her time and ensure that the world she saw never comes to pass, but the weight of all she saw takes its toll.

Alexius lay dead at Branwen’s feet, but their troubles were only just beginning. An army of demons marched on them, their shrieks echoing in the distance.  
Dorian had taken the amulet off of Alexius’s corpse and had begun trying to reverse time to send himself and Branwen back home. Solas watched the door, dread growing in his chest. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”  
“An hour?” cried Leliana, “that’s impossible! You must go now.”  
A new shriek sounded now, louder and more deadly than before. Solas knew the sound well; he had heard it many times before in days when the Evanuris had ruled the earth. Only a dragon could scream like that - so loud that the very ground beneath their feet shook. “You cannot stay here!” he said. He knew what needed to be done. He looked to Cassandra, and she nodded, already guessing his intent. “We’ll hold the outer door. When they get past us, it’ll be your turn.”  
“No!” yelled Branwen, “I won’t let you die for me. There must be another way.”  
“Look at us,” said Leliana, “We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.”  
Branwen shook her head. She looked at Dorian, hoping beyond hope that there was something that could be done. He gave no answer, just continued charging the amulet.   
“Solas!” she cried. She stepped forward, but he stayed her, his palm raised towards her.   
“It is alright, Lethalan. You must go back, do you hear me?”  
She stared, blankly. He did not linger, but turned towards the door, ready to face his doom.

Branwen waited, helpless. She could not aid Dorian in his work, so instead, she was left to listen to the shrieks and wails of the demons at their doorstep. She heard her companions, too, fighting off the horde to the best of their ability. Before her, Leliana stood ready, her bow raised. Branwen did the same.   
When the doors burst open, she let her arrows fly. A few struck true, embedding themselves deep in her demon foes.   
“Just a little longer!” cried Dorian.  
She let loose another and another, striking target after target. Then, she saw the crumpled, bloody body of Solas, dragged by his crushed skull into the atrium.   
“No!” she screamed. Just then, Leliana was struck, an arrow flying straight to her chest. Still, she fought, and so did Branwen. She notched another arrow, striking true. She was not sure that the tears had dried since arriving in this cursed future, but they fell hot now. She paid them no mind. She moved forward, towards the horde that had killed her friends, that had killed the man she loved.   
“No!” cried Dorian, “If you move, we all die!”   
She turned, saw the portal growing, the light swelling like it had what was only an hour ago for her, a whole year for so many. She looked back again, the demon army, their bodies deformed and hideous, creeping ever closer. They tread over Solas’s corpse like it wasn’t even there. His blood, abnormally red with Lyrium, poured out, staining the stones of Redcliffe castle. She could not see Cassandra. She assumed she had fallen on the steps before the door.   
The demons seized Leliana. Their eyes met, and Branwen watched in horror as the last of her companions was struck down.  
Just then, the portal swelled, and Dorian pulled her through. 

When they stepped through to the other side, Alexius stood before them, shrinking away in awe that she had returned to him in what must have only been seconds.   
“You’ll have to do better than that,” said Dorian, that cocky, light-hearted lilt in his voice.   
Branwen was not so amused. She strode to where he stood and backhanded him so hard he sunk to his knees. “You’re done, Alexius. You’ve failed.”  
“You’ve won,” he said in abject surrender, “There is no point extending this charade.”  
*****************  
Branwen had ordered Alexius taken away in chains. She maintained a sense of decorum as they completed their business. She spoke with the King and Queen of Ferelden with confidence and grace. She offered an alliance to the Free Mages and a new home in Haven. She paid her respects, and gave the order to march, and the Inquisition obeyed. Solas followed, curious as to what had happened to have elicited such anger from Branwen, but it hardly mattered. Whatever had occurred, their day had been a resounding success. They had formed a powerful alliance, displayed their strength to the monarchs of Ferelden, and foiled the plans of Alexius’s Elder One.   
Solas was not able to catch up with Branwen properly until they made camp that night. They were hardly alone. The Mages, forced to evacuate Redcliffe, followed them to Haven and camped with them, their tents spread far and wide near the small crossroads where they settled. He found Branwen on the ridge overlooking the small town, leaning against a fence that was built into the cliff face.  
“You did well today, Lethalan,” he said, leaning next to her. “You’ve shown your strength and goodness to your new allies. You should be proud.”  
Branwen did not respond. She merely stared out over the town, watching the mages mingle with the people below, buying and trading, discussing the latest news and gossip.   
“You seem troubled,” he said, “Something on your mind?”  
She sighed. “What I saw-” She trembled. “I don’t want to say what I saw. But we can’t let it happen.”  
He nodded. “I’m sorry that you were forced to see something so horrible, whatever it was. It is alright if you do not wish to talk about it.”  
“I don’t.”  
“I understand,” he said, “but if you ever change your mind, I will gladly listen. You can always come to me with your troubles, my friend.”  
Branwen looked at him at last. Still, she did not speak, but her eyes welled with tears. She reached out a hand and gripped the nape of Solas’s neck. His eyes widened as she pulled him closer, pressing their foreheads together. He felt stiff and unsure, but she relaxed into the touch. He watched her, the features of her face merging together at such a close distance.  
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said. She pulled away, averting her gaze to her feet. “I think I’ll turn in for the night. Dareth shiral, Solas.”  
He watched her walk away, feeling like he had missed something important. As she left, Dorian walked by and gave her a nod. He looked at her, then at Solas watching her, then back to her and to Solas once more.   
Solas took note of his stare with mild contempt. “May I help you?”  
“No, no,” said Dorian, a look of “don’t blame me, I am but a humble observer” on his face. He walked on, leaving Solas alone in the fading light of what, to him, seemed a victorious day.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
> 
> Several lines of dialogue lifted from the original game. Credit to the writers.


End file.
